


to the bone

by volleycatnika



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Evil!Shiro, Gen, Horror, Mild Blood & Gore, Mind Games, dark!shiro, horrorish (I tried)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volleycatnika/pseuds/volleycatnika
Summary: In the end, there is only one winner. "Bow to me, your champion," he says, watching the other reluctantly bow to him. "Bow to me, the real Shiro."





	to the bone

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first attempt at horror
> 
> also I only read over this once so.....

Glowing, golden eyes stare into his own… Or so Shiro assumes. With the eyes lacking pupils, Shiro’s unsure of where his gaze is directed. Before Shiro can make any more observations - About the man’s eyes, the man himself, or the room they’re in, he speaks. “Do you know who you are? Do you know where you are?” His voice is low and even. To many, his voice would be soothing. For Shiro, it’s about as comforting as nails on a chalkboard. “Do you know who I am?” Shiro isn’t sure why he finds the man’s voice unsettling. 

“I…” Shiro tries to answer the man’s questions. He really, really does but it hurts to think - It feels as though his brain is on fire. Wincing, Shiro says, “I know my name, but that’s about it. Where am I? Who are you?” Shiro is itching to look around - to find the answers to these questions on his own - but he finds himself unable to move. He’s unable to do anything other than to gaze into those eerie eyes.

The man approaches him… His eyes gleaming with likely malicious intent. Each step echoes amongst the silence, sounding like thunder within Shiro’s ears. “You are here,” the man replies, tapping one metallic index finger against his own temple, “you’re a prisoner of your own mind. Well, more like my prisoner.”

Taking a few more steps - Steps that close what little distance is left between them, the man adds, “as for who I am… I’m you but stronger.” Before Shiro can process what he said, the man places his metal hand against Shiro’s forehead. The contact is far from pleasant - his hand feeling a lot warmer than a metal hand should. 

It takes Shiro a second to notice that the man’s hand is glowing, and burning his flesh - burning a hole into his skull. As his own scream is met with a villainous laugh, Shiro finds himself fading…

Shiro wakes to find himself in a cage. It’s a cage unlike any other… Bars made of a material that is tough but lightweight, and fellow inmates that are anything but human. After rattling the bars in the hopes of loosening one with no success, Shiro retreats to the dark recesses of the cell. His retreat is met with more retreats - all of the other prisoners keep at least a foot of space between them. 

The aliens in the cell shiver, sniffle and gaze at him with wide eyes. Why are they so scared of him?

Why, why, why?

There’s blood on his sword and his hands. There’s blood on his tattered clothes and worn shoes. There’s blood on his face and in his hair. None of it is his. Not a single drop. “Use the hand,” the man in his mind - the him in his mind tells him. “Use it or lose it.”

Shiro deems his threat empty. Relying on the sword - The sword that deals death in a quick and clean fashion, Shiro ignores him. He ignores him until his threat becomes a reality. “You have one chance and one change only,” a hunch figure - a figure that reeks of poison and destruction informs him. As they speak, they run a wrinkled, purple hand along his metal arm “use it in your next match or lose it.”

Shiro may not remember losing his arm the first time, but he doubts it was a pleasant experience. With a nervous, shallow breath, he makes a decision. It is one that haunts him.

The smell of burning flesh becomes so common - so familiar that the smell seems to be stuck in his nose. The sound of screams - Screams of the innocent, the torture that don’t want to be there any more than him, ring within his ears. The rush of warmth that spreads across his hands as blood spills from wounds he inflicted lingers… Seems ever present no matter how many times he washes his hands.

“Don’t you see?” the man asks him after a particularly gory fight - a fight that leaves the spectators shouting in glee and Shiro throwing up his lunch. “You’re evil.” The man attempts to grab him - to pull him back into his mind, but Shiro resists. 

I’m good. I do what I have to in order to survive. I’m good. I do what I have to in order to survive. I’m good. I do what I have to in order to survive. Shiro repeats the same sentences over and over to convince the man - to convince himself. I’m good. I’m good. I’m good. 

As time goes on… As time drags on, he finds himself having to convince himself more frequently. I’m good. I do what I have to in order to survive. I’m good. I do what I have to in order to survive. I’m good. I do what I have to in order to survive. I’m good. I’m good. I’m good. 

As time goes on… As time drags on, both his vocal and mental voice grow tired and raspy. I’m good. I do what I have to in order to survive. As time goes on… As time drags on, he finds himself unable to speak or think. He finds himself acting on instinct. I have to sleep to live. I have to eat to live. I have to drink to live. I have to kill to live… Kill or be killed. 

The man in his mind - his other self is delighted upon witnessing Shiro’s latest realization. With a wide smile, he doesn’t so much as control Shiro as he offers suggestions… “Use your hand and sword for this one…” As he offers advice. “The best way to kill him is too…”

After that, killing becomes easy. It becomes habit… Or perhaps more accurately, it becomes routine. Eat, sleep, kill. Even though there’s an easiness to it… Even though it becomes routine, something about it still unnerves him.

Dark, weary eyes that look nearly empty gaze into his own… There’s only a faint gleam serving as evidence that there’s still life in them… That there’s still life in him. Before he can make any more observations - About the man’s eyes, the man himself, or the room they’re in, he speaks. “Do you know who you are? Do you know where you are?” His voice is low and even. To many, his voice would be soothing. For him, it’s about as comforting as nails on a chalkboard. “Do you know who I am?” he isn’t sure why he man’s voice unsettling.

He doesn't respond. Far too confused and tired to even attempt to answer the man's questions.

"You're Kuro," the man informs him, "We're in here," he motions to his temple with a metallic finger. "I'm Shiro, the man you should be."

Suddenly, it comes back to him. Suddenly, it all makes sense. "Ah, Shiro," Kuro purrs, striding toward him. Just like the first time, Shiro is frozen... Unable to do anything but gaze into Kuro's yellow eyes. "I remember you, weakling." In a matter of seconds, Kuro has his hands around Shiro's throat... Has Shiro gasping for air. "You were so insistent on being good but," Kuro removes one of his hands from Shiro's neck in order to motion to the two of them. "But look at you... Look at us! We're bad, Shiro. We're bad to the bone."

Completely letting go of Shiro's neck, Kuro grins at the bruises he leaves. "Prepare to fall, Shiro," he says, before kicking him down. When Shiro rises, he kicks him down again. It's a repetitive, tiring cycle.

In the end, there is only one winner. "Bow to me, your champion," he says, watching the other reluctantly bow to him. "Bow to me, the real Shiro."

**Author's Note:**

> some stuff was supposed to be in italics but AO3 didn't save it and I was too lazy to fix it, lol


End file.
